


Cravings, fire, and things that shine

by hotaruyy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, and mutual pining, featuring self-esteem issues from both main characters, merry christmas people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotaruyy/pseuds/hotaruyy
Summary: Phil knows that Clint has always liked shiny things.The glint of a steel arrowhead at full draw, the gleam of aviators perched on a scarred nose, the conspicuous flash of silver from the nickel that he tosses while strolling into Phil’s office, nonchalant as you please.Thing is, Phil is quite aware of what he is. Ordinary. Dull. Muted. Whether or not Natasha and Clint are involved, Phil knows that he has no chance at all.





	Cravings, fire, and things that shine

**Author's Note:**

> It’s midnight (finally Christmas) when this idea struck me, and I rushed this fic out before I slept. Thanks, overactive imagination.
> 
> It’s still Christmas Day where I am, so Merry Christmas (or whatever you celebrate) everyone!
> 
> First line of the fic is from Disney's Tangled.

Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.

_Mine._

 

* * *

 

 

Phil knows that Clint has always liked shiny things.

The glint of a steel arrowhead at full draw, the gleam of aviators perched on a scarred nose, the conspicuous flash of silver from the nickel that he tosses while strolling into Phil’s office, nonchalant as you please.

Even Clint himself shines. Sometimes he stretches, nearly deliberate in its casualness, and his shirt rides up to show an expanse of golden, gleaming skin (and a glimpse of dark purple scales, but Phil always dismisses it as fantasy, imagination). The archer’s keen eyes catch the light and reflect steely blue, but they always soften when he smiles – his real ones, mind you – and the hard glare turns into something quietly glowing.

Clint likes heights too. Likes danger. Phil can tell he enjoys jumping off his perches (nests) when an op goes wrong, entirely in his element in the rushing wind and vertigo.

So when Clint sees the Black Widow, Phil isn’t surprised when the archer breathes a _I need to ask her_ through the comms, then proceeds to ignore everything Phil says. The Widow is a weapon, eyes flashing, hair flaming red, smile enticing, soft curves and hard edges all in one. Shining and dangerous.

Phil isn’t surprised, but it stings all the same.

The op ends with Clint in medical for a few burns that he refuses to explain, and a new agent stuck to his side.

Through the years, the pair gains SHIELD’s trust (they had each other’s the moment they met), Clint continues climbing precarious heights whenever Phil is watching, and Phil remains resigned at the intimacy between his two best agents.

Thing is, Phil is quite aware of what he is. Ordinary. Dull. Muted. Whether or not Natasha and Clint are involved, Phil knows that he has no chance at all.

So he counts his blessings and revels in his nearness to Clint, the opportunity to bask in his warmth and glow. When Clint grins at him, embers smoulder low in Phil’s stomach, and he has to turn away before it burns him up.

(Then Loki sneaks up behind him and that fire in his stomach engulfs his whole world, chars and blackens his vision and he feels himself falling, falling, falling.)

 

 

It’s Christmas – ten months since Phil woke up, six months since he pulled out all the tricks in his sleeves and forced Nick to tell the Avengers. Clint’s always looked away the few times they’ve met after that (why does Phil think he sees guilt?), slipped away using excuses if he could manage it.

It’s more than Phil imagined he would get, because no one betrays someone’s trust without breaking something. So he counts his blessings, as always.

Clint loves Christmas. Decorations such as bells and stars gleam and shine, the pavements are dappled with coloured lights, and houses are always filled to the brim with steady laughter and warm candlelight. He told Phil that he feels safe during Christmas, like nothing could penetrate the cocoon of lights and festivity. _It’s when people’s generosity spill like the lights from their windows, so there’s more food to go around than usual. It’s when people smile for no reason except that it’s Christmas. It’s when no one’s stopping to wonder why someone’s eyes gleam in the dark._ Phil wonders how Clint is spending this holiday, since they used to celebrate Christmas together in Phil’s small apartment, lit up everywhere for the special occasion (for Clint).

It’s not exactly dark in his apartment now. The white glow of the snow washes through his furniture and sets everything in stark contrast, shades of black and grey and silver. Phil sits at the window, pondering how the archer got the marshmallow in his hot chocolate to catch fire a few years back, despite not having a lighter or a match near him.

_Knock._

Faintly, at the door. Timid.

Phil walks over and opens the door to find Clint with his hand raised, poised to knock again. The archer’s breath leaves him in a soft exhale, and his eyes are locked on Phil’s with a hint of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone to answer.

They stare at each other until Clint looks down, shuffles his feet, and asks if Phil would mind.

So Phil lets him in, turns on a lamp that casts a small, but warm circle of yellow, and whips up two cups of hot chocolate. Plops in a marshmallow each, when he manages to find them in a cupboard.

They sit in silence on the sofa, nursing their hot chocolates, and Clint glances at him through his lashes unsteadily, and blows gently at the marshmallow. This time, Phil sees the tiny flickers of flame that leave Clint’s mouth. _Oh._

(Deliberately casual.)

“I, uh. I’ve been giving you my blood.”

Phil’s confusion must be showing on his face, but Clint ploughs on, increasingly defensive. His voice shakes.

“I didn’t ask for your permission, but I would still do it all over again if I had another chance, because I’d rather have you hating me than you dead, ok?”

Hate him?

“Clint, let’s take this slowly, alright? What does your blood do?”

The archer exhales heavily. “It makes you physically stronger. Heal faster. Cap’s serum was derived from our blood, too. But. Um.”

“But?” Phil prompts gently.

“Cap’s serum was modified so it’s different but I gave you my blood directly and it links your life with mine and you have probably noticed the burn in your stomach and how it’s hotter when you’re hurt and trying to heal, and the whole year you’ve been dead I was slipping you more of my blood and I swear I stopped when you woke up and I’m sorry that I broke a shit ton of boundaries doing this without your consent but I don’t regret it.”

_Huh._

“Ok,” Phil says slowly. “So what you’re saying is that you gave me your blood and that made me wake up?” It would explain how he didn’t die, since SHIELD medical couldn’t find any reason that he just… lived.

Clint nods.

“But Clint, that fire in my stomach that you mentioned, that’s been there even before the invasion.”

The archer flushes red as Phil continues.

“It’s been there since you came back with Nata… Oh. Is she also?” Phil gestures at Clint’s body.

Another nod, and Clint looks down, and finally speaks.

“She lost someone. She didn’t want that to happen to me, and I took her advice. Slipped drops of my blood in your coffee and tea whenever you’re too worn out to notice the slight change in taste.”

Phil remembers steaming cups held in one rough hand, silver nickel falling into the other. Seems to recall when Clint started sprawling on the tiny couch in his office instead of walking back out, shoulders relaxing slightly when Phil drank.

“And you said it links my life with yours?”

Clint’s eyes flick up to his, but slide away immediately. “Drinking blood strengthens our bond. Emotionally. I’m sorry if you don’t want it. I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve been trying to manipulate your emotions. But I’ve said it already, I’d do it over and over again if it means you’re alive and well.”

They fall into silence, Phil processing all that he’s heard while Clint’s expression shuts down bit by bit.

“But why? Why me?”

And just like that, Clint’s eyes flare to life.

“What do you mean ‘why you’, for fuck’s sake you have to know what you mean to me!”

But.

“I’m just some guy in a suit.”

Phil isn’t sure why but Clint’s expression and body language slams shut at that.

“If that’s your attempt at rejecting me then you could at least respect me enough to tell me directly.”

Honestly, Phil’s brain is having trouble keeping up with the conversation.

“What?”

Clint pushes himself to his feet and sets his now-empty mug on the coffee table. “Thanks for the hospitality,” he intones, and turns around to leave.

“Wait, Clint, no,” Phil scrambles to come up with something to make him stay, “Clint, _please._ ”

The archer pauses with his hand on the door.

It’s like that moment of clarity when Phil watched the footage of Loki placing the sceptre to Clint’s heart, the balance tipped painfully close to losing Clint. And Phil’s had enough of these moments. He has nothing else to lose now, never has, when the only thing that ever really mattered was the man in front of him.

“You seem to think I don’t want your blood because it’s tied me to you, but the truth is, I started falling in love with you during that mission in Shenyang when you laughed for the first time since we met.” His voice is quiet, yet excruciatingly clear in the silence of the apartment. “I’ve fallen again and again over the years, and never thought you would ever reciprocate. You shine and burn, intelligent and loyal, and I know enough of myself to know that you wouldn’t – So if I’ve really got a chance, if you still trust me enough to know that I’m telling the truth, then Clint. Please stay.”

By the end of that, Clint’s whole body is shaking, and his words are forced out in between shudders.

“How can’t you see it? How can’t you see how bright you glow? Your eyes, and your smile, Jesus,” He whispers. Turning around, he smiles weakly at Phil. “Phil Coulson, devoted, loyal, competent, caring, and painfully unaware of all the above. How can I ever deserve you?”

“We’re both a little fucked up,” Phil says, standing up and putting down his mug.

“Just a little, huh,” Clint huffs, then Phil is there in a few strides and he wraps the archer in a loose hug, feels the flames in his stomach curl pleasantly for the first time in months.

“Now, if only we had some mistletoe hanging conveniently above our heads,” Phil says dryly, and Clint laughs.

 

 

Phil knows that Clint has always liked shiny things.

What he didn’t know, was how much he himself shined.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this cheesy Christmas fluff <3  
> Like my writing? Come check out my word vomit on [tumblr](https://hotaruyy.tumblr.com/).  
> Love y'all!!!


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